


puzzled

by allonsytastic



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, but then again, so i suppose you could label this as crack, weirder things have been known to happen on this show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:32:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytastic/pseuds/allonsytastic
Summary: The Doctor's accidentally been transformed into a 30.000 part jigsaw puzzle. Clara has to pick up the pieces.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is - without a doubt - the weirdest thing I've written so far. In case you're wondering about the setup, I'm imagining a roughly Doctor-shaped jigsaw puzzle, the pieces of which are strewn all across the TARDIS console room.  
> Bear with me and enjoy :)

She raises one of her eyebrows. "How does that even happen?"

"Well it's not my fault, Clara" he whines, "I don't know... there were those Bravorians and I think i might have accidentally insulted their supreme leader or national treasure or something. You can't expect me to keep on top of all of those things, can you? _Where were you anyway?_

"At home. On my couch - which, incidentally, your lovely TARDIS very nearly crashed into. _Thanks for that, by the way._ "

I keep telling you there's too much furniture in your flat. What do you need a couch for anyway? Lying down is no fun!"

An unnerved sigh escapes her, but she restrains herself from getting dragged into that particular argument. Again. _Been there, done that._

 "How are you even talking to me? Where's your voice coming from? You don't exactly have the volume to resonate soundwaves, seeing as you're a PUZZLE. A FUCKING TWO-DIMENSIONAL PUZZLE."

He either consciously ignores the annoyance in her voice or he actually does not grasp the level of irritation and distress caused by the absolute absurdity of his current state. "Ah, a brilliant question! With a most brilliant answer, no less. You see, I've anticipated cases such as this. Losing the capacity of speech is a troubling prospect, after all. So I've implemented the _Totally Awesome Linguistic Kircuit_ into the TARDIS - you see what I did there? ' _TALK_ ' for short!"

"..."

"Clara, are you rolling your eyes?"

"I would _never_ ", she says, rolling her eyes.

 

"So, wait a second, what are you saying, Doctor? The TARDIS is translating your thoughts for me?"

"Precisely! Well. Actually not quite, to be exact. It's more of a speech pattern extrapolation algorithm... knack."

" _Extrapolation_? You mean like _prediction_? As in, I'm actually talking to the TARDIS matrix _instead_ of you?"

"Genius, isn't it?"

"Well, you _would_ say that."

 

"Okay, so how do we fix this? Do I have to put you together or something?"

"I think so. Be careful though, I'm not sure what happens if you get the pieces mixed up. And that would be an embarrassing thing to regenerate over."

"Doctor, how am I ever going to do that? And why do you insist on wearing so much black? This is a nightmare. Seriously, this piece right here, for instance. That could be from anything. Is it your coat? Maybe? Your trousers? Shoes? Sweater? Who knows?"

"It's called _Minimalism._ " She doesn't have to see his face to know he's pouting. Eyebrows drawn together in a frown that's practically tangible in the air around her - and for a second she wonders if this is the TARDIS' doing or if she's just slowly being driven mad by an insane alien-man-child.

"Well, there goes nothing" she sighs, picking up the first piece.

 

* * *

 

"So that's a week of my life I'm never getting back." Clara sinks back into the cushioned upholstery of her living room armchair, glancing over at the newly assembled Doctor, who is now laying sprawled across her couch ( _not surplus to requirement after all, eh?_ )

"Good to have _you_ back, though." she hastens to add as an uncertain expression forms on the Doctor's face, patting him awkwardly on the knee.

He's unusually taciturn, the fingers of his left hand nervously tapping along his thigh, eyes shifting between unfocused points in the distance. She can't shake the feeling that he's about to tell he something, that he's trying to get something off his chest. He keeps on starting sentences just to stop dead in his tracks, leaving unfinished words hanging in the air. She's seen it on him before and she's not sure if she can handle a self-conscious Doctor right now, so she ventures into the realms of small-talk to distract him from his predicament.

"You know, Doctor, I've never been one for jigsaws. Always been more of a crossword person." At this last sentence, he glances up, his eyes catching hers, and a small, wistful smile appears on his lips.

 

She doesn't think too much of it until the next day, when she returns from school to find a neatly wrapped pile of crosswords on her living room table. They seem to have been assembled from a variety of newspapers throughout decades of earth's (and by the look of it also alien) history. On top of the pile, there's a small note, written in the Doctor's ornate hand.

 

_**To Clara,** _

_**my [_] [_] [_] [_] [_] [_] [_] [_] [_] [_] girl.** _

_**I can never seem to find the right words, but I'm sure you will.** _

 

_**[_] [_] [_] [_], the Doctor** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to everybody who noticed the acronym which eluded the Doctor :)


End file.
